Flip a Coin

There is my t-shirt flapping around,

being gracefully tossed

back and forth.

I see you moving like a playful chef,

tossing pasta

in delicate tomato sauce,

with the pan rocking

in recklessly calculated movements.

Dear wind, 

who cracks through

the flock of pines

standing in perfect salutation, 

only to be broken, by you,

at the kneecaps,

then becomes the lover 

who gently caresses

my laundry stretched out

on the clothesline between 

the ruggedly tired yet

drunkenly happy farmhouse

and the forest cove 

of oaks, boxelders, and walnuts.

How do you know when to destroy

and when to love? 

Or, should the question be,

what’s the difference?